Chapter Eight: Ala

Ala is the Earth Mother Goddess; female Alusi (deity) of the earth, morality, death, and fertility in Odinani. She is the most important Alusi in the Igbo pantheon. The Igbo people of Nigeria call Her the mother of all things, but She is both the fertile earth and the empty field after the harvest. She is present at the beginning of the cycle of life, making children grow in their mother's womb, and She is there at the end of the cycle, to receive the souls of the dead into Her own womb.

x.

The sun was rapidly sinking below the horizon when the three of them sat in Allison's car. She and Scott were in the front, both turned around, watching Stiles in the back. "Are you sure you're OK?" asked Allison concernedly, watching him.

Scott held out a water bottle. "Maybe you should have another drink of water."

"No," snapped Stiles, glaring at them. "Oh my God, I'm not five years old."

"You just got out of the hospital, Stiles," stressed Scott. "If you want to take a night off-"

Stiles shook his head firmly. "I already missed two days of school," he said, "and, let's be honest, twenty-four hours without me? You're lucky you're not dead, Scott."

Scott grinned at him, glancing at Allison. "He's fine," he said.

As they got out, exiting into the cold nighttime air of the parking lot, another car turned in, slitting through the night, coming to a halt far too close to Allison's car. The passenger's side opened and Cora stepped out of the car, her eyes focused only on Stiles, just sliding out of Allison's car. "Hey," she said, her voice low. "What happened to you? Where were you today?"

"Oh, yeah," he muttered, and even in the darkness, those with heightened senses could see the blush rise to his cheek. "I was, uh," he glanced at Scott, "sick."

She watched him, nodding. A hand flickered out somewhat unconsciously, fingers brushing against his elbow, as if about to take his arm. And then she seemed to become aware that they weren't alone, and she pulled away quickly, pressing her hands to her sides, glancing over across the top of the car at her brother, who said nothing, only watched her innocently. Looking up to Scott, Cora asked, "You said you found something?"

"Yes," replied Allison. "That symbol. I think it means a lot more than you think it does."

Derek narrowed his eyes at the girl, but Cora nodded and asked, "So we're here because…?"

"Because," responded Scott, "we were hoping your emissary would know more about your family than you do." With a lingering glance, Scott tore his gaze away and headed towards the veterinary clinic. Derek and Cora exchanged glances.

Deaton let them inside, and, glancing behind them all, carefully closed the small gate built from mountain ash. "What are you doing?" asked Cora, watching him. Her dark eyes flickered up to his face distrustfully. "Don't try to trap us in here."

"I'm not," he replied calmly. "A member of the other pack was attacked and killed. If they suspect any of you are responsible, sometime when you're all together – like now – would be an ideal time to corner you all."

Cora stared at him, then glanced down at the line, her face pale. Stiles moved forward. "Hey," he said, "don't worry about it. Half of us here are regular humans, remember?" He looked at her, then down at the hinged gate in the counter. "If you need to get out," he said, "then it's super easy. See?" He opened the gate, holding it open and standing aside, as if to allow her to walk by. "Nobody's trapped," he said earnestly.

She watched him for a moment, then looked back up at Deaton and nodded. Stiles carefully closed the gate again, making sure it latched, and they went into the back.

Allison placed a photocopied paper onto the center of the steel examination table and said, "Something's happening to all of us, like – hallucinations. Like we're being haunted. And it all seems to come back down to this symbol." Deaton took the paper, inspecting it thoughtfully. "I just saw it," she continued, glancing over at Cora and Derek, "in their old house. Along with about a dozen wolves."

"You saw actual wolves?" asked Derek derisively, and Cora glanced back at him and said, "Derek," emphatically. He fell silent, brooding, his eyes still focused on Allison.

She looked up at him with an expression of distaste tugging at the corners of her lips. "They were not physically there, no," she said. "But I still saw them. And whatever's happening – it's getting to us through our heads, in our minds." Begrudgingly - addressing, it seemed, Derek - she finished, "Just because they weren't actually there doesn't mean any of this isn't real."

"Actually," said Stiles pointedly, yawning. "It kind of literally does? But I get what you mean." Allison shot him a dirty look and he blinked at Scott, muttering, "What?"

"Well," said Deaton, holding up the paper to display the symbol to them all, "they're not unconnected. While there are no natural wolves in California, the Hale line is known for their exceptional shape-shifting abilities."

"What does that mean?" asked Scott.

Glancing at Scott, Deaton continued, "Talia – your mother," he added, nodding towards Derek and Cora, "had the ability to shape-shift at will between a human form and that of a wolf. Usually this power was passed down between female Alphas."

"Hey," said Stiles, leaning in. He nudged Scott. "Remember when we dug up Derek's sister, and she was a wolf? Wasn't she an Alpha too?"

Derek growled, deep in his throat. Nodding his head slightly, Deaton said, "She was. I didn't know Laura as an Alpha for very long, but presumably she would have the ability as well."

Although he said nothing, Derek's eyes were glinting blue, baring his teeth. The rest of them looked at him expectantly, but he said nothing. Finally Cora – whom had been deliberately avoiding his gaze – sighed, "What is it, Derek?"

"Laura could shift," he said, the blue light in his eyes dying down. "But I bound her in that form when I buried her with the wolfsbane rope. If you two idiots hadn't torn the spiral apart, she might still be buried there."

"Dude," said Scott, "sorry. We thought you'd killed her."

"Where is she buried now?" asked Deaton, his dark eyes moving to Derek.

"There's a cemetery outside of town," replied Derek. Glancing at Allison, he said, "The same place her aunt is buried. After all the trouble died down, I had Laura lain to rest there." He paused, then added, "That's how I found Isaac."

Thoughtfully, Deaton asked, "Did you bind her, again?"

"I couldn't," replied Derek, shaking his head. "My family's gone. There's no reason to uphold those traditions anymore."

"Oh," said Deaton, looking back at the page before him, "I have to disagree with you on that, Derek."

"She's not, though," said Scott.

They all looked at him.

"Buried," he clarified. With a cautious glance to his best friend, he continued, "Stiles found it. Laura Hale's grave was robbed. Her body is missing."

"Oh, yeah," remarked Stiles, looking back at them vaguely.

Skeptically, Allison asked, "Your sister's grave was broken into…and you didn't even know?"

"Not like it's the first time this has happened," said Derek, shooting a menacing glance at Scott and Stiles.

"We've had more important concerns lately," added Cora icily.

"In any case," said Deaton, nodding wisely, placing the paper back down on the examination table, "that would make sense."

"Sense?" repeated Derek heatedly. "My sister's body is missing, and that makes sense?"

Deaton tapped the symbol before them. "If this is making an appearance," he said, "then yes, Derek, it does."

Derek said nothing, staring at the other man. Cora glanced at her brother, then said, "We know this sign represents the Alpha line in our family. But it was never passed down to Laura."

"Oh, no," said Deaton, his voice very light. "This symbol is much older than the tradition of tattooing it on the backs of your women, Cora."

"Right," said Allison, nodding, her expression hard. She pointed to the caption beneath the photocopied image. "This book traces it back to the fourteen hundreds, back to la Bête du Gévaudan, which was the first werewolf that my family killed."

"True enough," replied Deaton, nodding. "The Argents have been hunting the Hales for a long time." To Allison, he continued, "Over the years, your family came to adopt the organizational structure of the clan you hunted. Which is the reason why you both," he glanced back to Cora meaningfully, "follow matrilineal leadership." Looking up to Derek, he added, apologetically, "For the most part."

Scott looked across, at Derek. "Did you know that?" he asked. Derek met his gaze for a moment, then shook his head.

"I'm not surprised," sighed Deaton. "The Hale family used to be much larger, but you've slowly been hunted to near extinction. As I understand, the Argents had eliminated most of them by the time they came to the New World."

"The New World?" echoed Stiles, sitting on one of the cabinets, behind the others, leaning his back against the wall. "You're telling me that Allison's family literally chased Derek and Cora's family all the way across the Atlantic?"

Without looking up, Deaton replied absent-mindedly. "Yes. In the late 1700s, I believe." He cleared his throat, straightening up, turning the symbol around to show it to all of them. "But," he continued, scanning across all of their faces, "there is an ancient, pagan meaning, one older than the Hale line itself."

Slowly, deliberately, he pointed to the sign. "It's called a triquetra," he said. Tracing his finger around its edges, he continued, "The three points represent the Triple Goddess." He pointed to one tapered edge. "The mother, or the wife," he moved his finger to the next, "the crone," and the third and final point, "and the maiden. Together," he said, tracing around the circle in the center of the circle, "they stand for an ancient set of sisters, who are collectively called," he glanced up, meeting Cora's gaze, "…the Morrigan."

"Morrigan?" echoed Stiles, arms folded over his chest. "Like the Irish goddess?"

"Yes," replied Deaton, nodding. He slid the paper over to Cora, who looked down at it, then up at him with deep, confused eyes. "This symbol," he began lowly, "is a mark of inheritance when tattooed on bodies." He looked at Allison. "It's a claim, when found on the land." He looked down at the sign. "When it begins to manifest on its own," he said, his voice quieter now, "…then it becomes a harbinger of death."

"Whose death?" asked Cora, pressing forward.

"I couldn't tell you," responded Deaton. "But there's something coming. I've felt it for a long time now."

"What's coming?" demanded Cora. "Is it Grace's pack?"

Shaking his head, Deaton said, "Grace doesn't have the kind of power to summon the Morrigan, not on her own." He paused, then added, "But if there were any town ripe for a summoning, it would be Beacon Hills."

"Why's that?" asked Allison.

His eyes slid over to her. "Do you know how many corpses of creatures that should have been indestructible litter these woods?" he asked, his voice soft. "Many years ago, the Hale line used to be a great force, but now it's little more than a broken house and her few remaining pups." Cora shifted slightly at this, but Stiles saw the way Derek reached out, gently resting a hand on her shoulder. Deaton continued, "The Morrigan takes many shapes but, reliably, she can found…" he glanced up at them, "…in the context of the dead."

"The dead?" echoed Scott, his brow furrowed hard in thought. "Like how we've all been seeing people who've died."

"But what does that mean?" insisted Cora. "Does that mean – can people who are dead come back to life? Is that what you're talking about?"

"Not necessarily," replied Deaton. Allison watched Cora, and narrowed her eyes slightly when she saw the spark of fear in the other girl's gaze. "Usually, the Morrigan would take her power from the dead, not restore it unto them."

No one was watching her except for Allison, but Cora let out what looked like a silent sigh of relief, and Allison did not move her gaze.

"Right," chimed in Stiles, still sitting against the wall. "Like how, in the legends, she'd show up on the battlefield after it was over."

"Exactly," said Deaton, nodding. He looked up, past the others, and said, "You're shaping up to be quite the emissary, Stiles."

Stiles blinked. Scott turned around to look at him, then looked back at Deaton, puzzled. "Emissary?" he asked, sounding perplexed.

Wide-eyed, Deaton looked up at him. "Of course," he said. "Every pack needs one."

"Hold on," said Stiles, hopping off the drawers, scooting in between Scott and Allison, leaning forward. "But I didn't go through any freaky supernatural druid training-"

Shaking his head, Deaton told him, "You support a pack. You act as an advisor, and protect their interests. You have dedicated your life to this, ever since Scott was bitten." He smiled. "You're an emissary."

It was, Scott thought, one of the few times he had seen his best friend speechless. Stiles said nothing for a second, and then he said, "OK. If you say so," and retreated.

"I don't understand," pressed Cora. "This – Morrigan. Whatever it is. Can it hurt us?"

"You?" asked Deaton. He considered this, then answered: "I doubt it. As Stiles aptly pointed out, the Morrigan comes to feast on the dead after a battle." He watched her, then explained: "She feeds on soldiers, not leaders. On sons, not daughters."

There was a pause, and then Cora stood up straight, pulling away from Deaton. Unable to restrain herself, she cast a glance at her brother, who only stared at the man before them stoically.

"That's enough," said Cora, something in her voice almost tired. "We know what it is. Now we just need to figure out how to fight it."

It wasn't much later that Cora was in the midst of the forest, the light of the stars and the moon unable to pierce through the thick canopy above her, silently treading on the dark, organic soil underfoot. Back at home, Derek had had that look in his eye, that mixture of fear and alarm and wariness that would usually prevent her from leaving him. But the power she had over him – the strength of her word, the way he wouldn't quite meet her gaze with those big eyes, when she spoke to him like that – it was intoxicating. The authority she held over him, her Beta, thrilled her.

So there she was in the woods, alone. The symbol felt burned behind her eyelids, the name turning over and over and over again in her mouth. She tasted it, felt it slide across her tongue, dripping from her teeth, rolling off her lips. Morrigan. The Morrigan.

She looked up, her eyes glowing through the fog of the late night, red rings in a cloudy white darkness. In the distance, she saw the color of her eyes reflected back at her.

Breathing in deeply, her search for a scent lasted only a second before she coughed and gagged, the sweet stink of rotting flesh inundating her nostrils. Holding a hand tightly over her face, she stumbled forward.

The moonlight found its way between the trees, illuminating the face behind the fog. Red eyes spread into a face, and long hair, a body wrapped in a shroud, and bare feet.

Cora's slow movement forward quickened, and she broke into a stride, her breath coming in short, disbelieving bursts. The red melted away from her eyes, and she felt wholly and exceptionally human as she stood mere feet away from the thing and she whispered one word. "…Mom-?"

With a thundering roar, a crackling, flickering fire consumed the body before her, shooting flames upwards and around her, blanketing the woman's body, charring it back, so hot that skin blistered and bubbled on contact. Cora screamed and the image of her mother's face, so serenely peaceful while the charred flesh was burnt right off bone, dug deep into her, into the part of her she no longer allowed herself to touch, and without thinking she launched herself towards the fire, feeling it bite at her arms as she tried to tear her mother from the flames, struggling with the body that would not stop burning, wide red eyes never closing, never moving from Cora's face, although the moisture in them seemed to pop and shrivel.

She threw her mother on the ground, lying on top of her, hands pressed against her mother's face, those eyes never moving. The flames were hot and intense, licking at Cora's 7skin, breaking open old wounds, scars that had healed when she fled, whimpering, away from her burning home. Fear rose in her chest, rearing its head the same way it did that night, and her heart beat so fast she could hear it become like one constant, never-ending thrum, and she looked down at the face again with wild eyes, breath short in her smoke-filled lungs, and the eyes were still red but they no longer belonged to her mother.

Cora screamed and pushed away, crawling away from the thing, the burnt, charred corpse staring back at her with her own eyes. Her chest pumping in air clouded by smoke and panic, she held onto herself tightly, slipping into animal instinct, red eyes pulsing beneath her eyelids. Just like after the fire, she could not think, she could not breathe. Everything that she was – everything that she had seen – became too intensely powerful, and she hugged her knees to her chest, feelings packed so tightly in with emotion and fear and despair and the burning, lingering feeling of fire that she was going to explode, she could not possibly hold it in…

Allison approached a clearing, her bow raised. There were sounds of movement, like leaves crunching underfoot. She adjusted her fingers on the bow.

Before her, a wolf stared at her with red eyes. It cocked her head at her.

"No," said whispered fiercely, returning the look with a gaze that dared the animal to move. "You don't scare me. Not again."

She let loose an arrow, but a moment later there was no satisfying thump as it collided with its target. It hovered in midair, a fist wrapped around the shaft.

Where the wolf had been standing a split second before, Cora now knelt, completely naked, long hair slightly matted, eyes glowing red.

"Oh my God," muttered Allison, and she rushed forward, shedding her long coat, instantly reaching to wrap it around Cora's shoulders. "Was that you?" she asked, although Cora didn't even look at her, staring dully forward. "I mean, I know that was you, I just saw you turn from – oh my God, I didn't know you could…" she trailed off. Then, gingerly, she asked, "Cora? Is everything OK?" The girl looked up at her vacantly. And then she shook her head, shivering in the night air. When she did not say anything more, Allison reached out, buttoning the front of the jacket. "I can take you home, if you want," she said uncertainly. Nodding behind them, she added, "The car's a little ways that way."

Cora didn't say anything. Neither did Allison. And then, very quietly, Cora lifted her gaze to meet Allison's, and she asked her faintly, "Have you ever used fire, Allison?"

Allison blinked at her. "Used fire?" she asked. "What do you mean?"

"The way your family did," continued Cora, glancing down, not looking at Allison. "Have you ever burned anyone, Allison?"

The girl with the bow was silent for a second. And then, firmly, she said, "No. I never have."

There was a silence between them.

And then Allison leaned in and she said: "Cora. Our families have been at war for a very long time." Cora didn't reply. Allison lowered her face, as if to catch Cora's eyes. "But you heard what Deaton said today. There's a new war coming, and I don't think we can afford to be enemies any longer." She waited for Cora to respond, but the other girl did not move. "We can end this," she said solemnly. "We have centuries of history behind us, but that doesn't mean we have to repeat it."

Finally, Cora's eyes flickered up to meet her own. Allison leaned in, resting her hand on the other girl's shoulder, waiting for a reply.

Quietly, irises burning red, Cora told her, "You only say that because your family won."

Allison said nothing, lips pressed tightly together. And then she took her hand away from Cora and turned around. "Come on," she said. "Let me take you home. Your brother's probably worried about you."

She began to walk away. Only a moment later, she heard footsteps behind her, and knew that Cora was following her.

"You don't have to like me," she said over her shoulder, at Cora. "But there's something going on here, and, somehow, it's connected to your family. I'm not about to just let that go. Not after what it's done to me and my friends."

"It hasn't touched you," said Cora scathingly, from behind her. "Look at you. You're not bleeding. You don't even have any scars." She paused, waiting, knowing that would sink in Allison deeply. Lowly, she said, "If I had a human body, after what your family did to us - I'd be unrecognizable."

"You do have a human body," replied Allison, glancing back at the werewolf. "You are human, Cora. You may also be a werewolf, but that doesn't take away your humanity. Scott showed me that."

Cora was silent. And then she said, "No. I was never just human."

They continued on. After a few moments, Allison glanced around. They were nowhere near the car, but a chill breeze swept through the forest, shivering the leaves and raising the hair on Allison's exposed skin, no longer protected by her warm coat.

Abruptly, Cora said, "He loved her, you know."

Allison stopped. She turned around and looked back at Cora. "Who?" she asked, a crease in her brow.

Cora looked at her with deep, dark eyes. "Your aunt. Kate. The one who killed me and what was left of my family." She paused, then repeated: "Derek loved her."

"What?" asked Allison. "Derek didn't even know her. He would've been just a teenager then."

There was something strange and animalistic in the way Cora did not move, her eyes shining in the darkness. "How do you think she knew when and where we all would be?" asked Cora, her voice hushed. "It was the Wolf Moon. How did she know that, Allison?"

Allison stared at her.

Bitterly, folding the collar of the coat up to protect the skin of her neck, Cora continued, "I knew. But I was so young, and he told me not to tell our mother, and I idolized him. He was my big brother." She stopped. She stared at Allison. Then, softly, she said: "So I didn't tell her."

They met one another's gaze.

And then, her gaze lifting, defiance written in the scowl on her face, Cora said, "I am the Alpha because I was always meant to be. If there's a reason I survived the fire that killed my mother, my father, my cousins, my aunts and uncles – and there must be a reason – then it's this. Don't forget that, Allison. You can talk about reconciliation all you want, but at the end of the day, I am the daughter of the Hales, and you are the daughter of the Argents, and all that history that's led up to this moment still matters."

She stared at the other girl. Allison felt suddenly, profoundly small.

"You won," said Cora. "But there's a new storm coming."

Neither of them said anything more. And then Allison glanced around them, into the trees. "Come on," she said, turning around again. "You can prophesize all you want to your brother. I don't have time for this."

She moved on and, once again, Cora followed her. After another few minutes, she stopped, glancing around.

"That's so weird," she began. "I could've sworn the car was right here…"

Cora whipped her head around suddenly. "Your bow," she said, and Allison blinked uncomprehendingly. Impatiently, Cora glanced around at her and said, "Put it up!"

"At what?"

"There's something," responded Cora, lowering to a defensive crouch, gesturing at the woods before them. "Out there. Smells like blood. And…"

"And?" asked Allison, nocking an arrow, holding up her bow.

"I don't know," replied Cora, shaking her head. "But it stinks." At first, neither of them moved, and then Cora slowly began to advance. When Allison hissed her name, she turned and whispered, "Whatever it is, I'm an Alpha, and you're a girl with a bow and arrow. Cover me, but trust me on this one."

After a moment, Allison let out a long breath and then nodded. Cora turned around again, slowly moving forward, stepping carefully between the trees. It wasn't long until the forest broke into a clearing, and Cora narrowed her eyes at the sight. It was Allison who let out sound, somewhere in between a gasp of shock and a breathy, horrified, "Oh my God." She dropped her bow to her side and shot past Cora, moving forward, standing at the base of the huge tree stump before them.

A bloom of red on a pale white body, a long stick of holly driven straight through his heart, there was an old man pinned to the tree, eyes wide open, dead and unseeing, a thick black goo not yet dried as it trickled down his face.